Self-Made Witch
by PegamooseG
Summary: The story is about a young woman who teaches herself magic, is on trial for exposing magic to muggles, and must defend herself. The story is more sci-fi than fantasy, but will leave you believing that anything is possible in the world of magic and miracles. This is a short story told of elsewhere in the universe of Harry Potter, and involves a unique set of characters.


The Self-Made Witch

The judge unrolled the scroll, cleared his throat, and read the charges aloud to the courtroom, "Trudy Falstaff, you have been accused for being an unlicensed witch exposing magic to muggles. How do you plead?"

"I have asked for a lawyer," Trudy said.

The panel of judges laughed. Judge Yertle, the head judge, said, "Ms. Falstaff, I assure you, you do not want a lawyer."

"Why can't I have a lawyer to represent me?" she asked.

"There are no lawyers involved in wizard court. There were days long ago when wizard court had lawyers. Most were dark and only served themselves. Because they were dark, they have been abolished from this judicial system. Your motion is denied. And, hiring yourself a muggle lawyer will only make your crime more severe. Therefore, you must defend yourself, unless you would like to appoint a wizard or witch to represent you. Do you have such representation?"

"No, your honor."

"In that case, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty," she said with certainty, which sparked muttering around the courtroom.

The courtroom was circular in its design. A panel of three judges sat at the long, slightly arched bench in the center floor area. Trudy sat alone at the table facing the bench. There was one additional, empty chair at the table reserved for anyone who would help represent her. Stadium seating surrounded the rest of the room. An audience filled over two-thirds of the seats. High above, a domed ceiling displayed the partly cloudy sky outside. Six doors were spaced at even intervals around the audience seating area, and two doors below allowed the judges and the accused access to the courtroom floor.

"Are you prepared to defend yourself on the charges against you?"

"I am."

The audience began talking among themselves. Judge Terrance Yertle banged his gavel to settle the outburst.

"The charges against you are as follows. One count of exhibiting magic without a license, and multiple accounts of performing magic in the witness of muggles, including multiple attempts to teach magic to muggles. You plead not guilty on all counts?"

"I do."

Again, Judge Yertle banged his gavel to quiet the room.

"Explain how someone with your magical talent was not on record," the judge said.

"On record?" Trudy asked.

"Licensed," Judge Yertle clarified.

"Ah. It's because I taught myself the ways of magic," Trudy said.

The panel of judges scoffed at her again. She did not appreciate them laughing at her.

"As I understand it, in this country, when magical children come of age, they are enrolled in school where they are properly trained and tested in the ways of magic. Correct?" she asked.

"That is correct. That has been the way for centuries."

"As I said, I taught myself magic," Trudy said. Again, they did not believe her.

"I find that highly unlikely," Judge Yertle said, smiling. The other judges on the panel agreed. "Your parents are not on record, either. Who taught you magic?"

What Trudy was about to say would wipe the smug looks off their faces. "What if I told you I bought an old text book about basic magic in a used book store?"

The room became quiet. She knew that a book of magic found in a muggle bookstore was a breach of secrecy. Someone in the wizard world slipped up to let such a thing happen.

"I find that highly unlikely, as well. We have ways of preventing such things from happening. The publisher places anti-muggle spells on each book. Plus, there are disposal units tracking each copy."

"And yet, I found one. So, if anyone should be on trial, it should be the witch or wizard who sold Magoo's Standard Book of Spells - Vol. I to the used bookstore where I bought it."

The book in question was submitted as evidence before the court. The magical law enforcement confiscated it when Trudy was arrested. That book and a few other magical artifacts in her possession were confiscated. The bailiff placed the lesson book on the bench in front of Judge Yertle.

"We shall see if you are telling the truth. Are you familiar with the spell 'priori legitur'?"

"No, your honor. I am not."

"Just like wands hold a record of what spells were last cast, books of magic also hold their history. As a magic book is read, the book also reads the reader," Judge Yrarbil, a wise female judge on the panel stated.

"Well said," Judge Yertle said. He held his wand above the lesson book and said, "Priori legitur."

The book flipped open. The pages fanned back and forth as if blown by a wind that couldn't make up its mind. Within the quickly flipping pages, a ghostly image of Trudy's own face appeared. There was no doubt that Trudy had read the book. She had read it through multiple times. The judge flicked his wand. Trudy's ghostly face disappeared. In its place, the image of a young boy appeared. The judge flicked his wand again, but the image of the boy remained.

Judge Yertle stopped the spell and the book snapped shut. He called of the bailiff and said, "Take this book and have someone find out who the boy is and how his book ended up in a muggle bookstore."

The bailiff nodded, took the book, and left the courtroom. Trudy doubted she would ever see the book again.

"The court concedes that you came into possession of a previously owned book and read its contents. Yet, this book involves incantations and wand work. We understand how you came to own the book, what about the wand? Did you obtain a wand through illegal means?"

"No, your honor. I crafted my own wand."

Again, the judges scoffed. "Sure, the wizard children are trained on wand crafting and repairing. How would a muggle such as yourself know how to craft a wand?"

Trudy waited patiently for the panel and courtroom to settle.

"Do you not have an explanation?" Judge Yertle asked.

"Yes, your honor, I do. Since you did not bring order to the courtroom, I was waiting patiently for everyone to listen."

Judge Yertle cleared his throat. Trudy knew it wasn't wise to provoke those determining her fate, but she didn't appreciate being ridiculed. The judge banged his gavel and said, "You may proceed, Ms. Falstaff."

"Thank you," Trudy said. "The book of spells listed the publisher and author. I used this information to contact the publisher for a book on wand crafting."

"And, I assume, you had a spot of difficulty finding the publisher."

"You assume correct, your honor. The publishing company was not listed in any of the muggle directories. There was no physical address listed in the book, but the city was noted. I traveled to the city of Smithville, where the publisher was said to be. When I was there, I bought a map and looked for trap streets."

"I'm sorry," Judge Yama interrupted, "What is a trap street?"

"It's believed that back when maps were hand drawn, cartographers would draw extra landmarks to distinguished their maps from the maps of counterfeiters. I projected a digital map from a satellite view on my computer over the printed map. Any differences between the two were either legitimate trap streets, mistakes, or anomalies. I noted each of these discrepancies, and located the publisher on one of the trap streets. When I found the publisher, I also found the book I was looking for on wand crafting."

"But, how did you find the publisher? Even if you found these trap streets, you couldn't have just walked up to the publisher and asked for a book. There are concealment charms to hide the building from muggles," Judge Yertle said.

Trudy had hoped to gloss over this part, but they had cornered her. She hoped she would not have to explain some of her more clever detective skills.

"Muggles can't look for the publisher, because they don't know to look for it. I knew about the publisher and approximately where it was, so I was able to find it," Trudy said.

"That's not how that type of spell works. The concealment spells are still in place to hide it. How did you get past the publisher's concealment charms?" Judge Yrarbil asked.

Trudy tried to answer without answering, but they persisted in knowing. From her little experience with the wizard world, not all wizards were tech savvy. Maybe if she used technical jargon, they might not fully understand and continue with the trial.

"Okay. Do you know how magic and muggle technology don't always mix?" she asked.

"We are aware of the phenomenon, yes," Judge Yertle said.

"But, do you understand why?" she asked.

"What are you getting at, Ms. Falstaff?" Judge Yama asked, pushing his glasses up his beaky nose and ruffling a hand through his curly, grey hair.

"The book of spells I bought, it is surrounded by a field of magic, like a harmless form of radiation," Trudy said. At least, I assume the magic radiating from it is harmless, she thought.  
"These magical fields are what interferes with electricity. It's like…," she thought of how best to describe it. "It's like how batteries have positive and negative charges, except magic has a different kind of charge. Instead of electrical charges, think of it more like how there are positive and negative numbers. When you try to find the square root of a negative number, you end up with an imaginary number. Magic is like that. It gives off something like an imaginary charge. Given a great enough imaginary charge, and it begins to interfere with electricity's positive and negative charges."

"What does this have to do with the publisher's concealment charms?" Judge Yertle asked.

Trudy was right. She could see the panel was confused by her techno mumbo jumbo. She continued, "if one were to create a device that could detect that imaginary charge, and couple that with the trap street, one could locate something concealed by magic. That's how I was able to reveal the publisher's location."

"With a device such as this?" Judge Yertle asked, and motioned for the bailiff. He brought in the device she invented to detect and measure magical fields. The confiscated device was set on the bench before the panel of judges.

"Yes, your honor," she said. Trudy's shoulders slumped. Apparently, someone was tech savvy enough to realize what the device was, and now it was admitted as evidence against her.

"You located the publisher and bought a stack of books, which I might add, have also been confiscated," Judge Yertle said. The bailiff brought in a box with a stack of seven other textbooks and set the box on the bench.

"Yes, your honor," Trudy said. She spent so much time discovering this secret world, and here it was all laid out before her submitted as evidence against her.

Judge Yertle pulled Trudy's wand out of the box and inspected it. "So, with these additional textbooks, you were able to fashion this wand. Very fine craftsmanship, my dear."

"Thank you, your honor," Trudy said, not hiding the disappointment in her voice.

"After acquiring the right tools, you were able to teach yourself magic. How so?" the judge asked.

Trudy shrugged and said, "With a lot of determination and practice."

Once again, the panel scoffed at her and Judge Yertle said, "I don't see how that's possible, but then again, you have proven many things we thought not possible today."

Judge Yama said, "Magic is in the blood."

"I disagree," Trudy said. "At least, I believe that statement is not entirely accurate. There have been numerous instances of wizards being born from muggle families. If it is in the blood, it must be a recessive gene. And yet, some of those muggle families have never had a wizard in the family. If it's in the blood, where does the magic originate?"

The panel of judges scratched their heads and shrugged.

"I believe that magic is a form of natural talent. Natural talent is not in the blood. People have been born in families of non-talented people and seem to have natural talent that comes from seemingly nowhere. But, just because people don't have natural talent doesn't mean they can't learn. Just like squibs who come from magical families can teach themselves basic magic. The more practice and determination, the better they can get."

There was muttering in the courtroom. Judge Yertle banged his gavel to quiet the room.

"The court concedes that with the proper tools you were able to teach yourself magic, which, I might add, is very remarkable for a muggle. After teaching yourself the ways of magic, you should have sought your license," the judge said.

Trudy said, "I didn't know I needed a license. I assumed learning magic was a talent, like learning to play piano. People don't need a license to play piano—not in the muggle world, anyway."

Laughter spread throughout the courtroom. Judge Yertle banged his gavel. "My dear, playing piano is a harmless activity, but wielding magic the wrong way can be very dangerous, if not deadly."

"How and when do people get their magic license?" she saked.

"Licenses are issued to young witches and wizards upon graduation from the schools where they are trained," Judge Yrarbil said.

"What about home schooled wizards or people like me who teach themselves?" Trudy asked.

"Magical people are sought out and taught in a secure, controlled environment. Even squibs enroll in schools or correspondence courses," Judge Yama said.

"That sounds like it's for people with natural magical talent, and not for home schoolers. I suggest a process should be put in place—…"

"Ms. Falstaff, the courtroom is not the place to push through legislation regarding licensing processes. However, depending on the outcome of this trial, you may arrange to be tested for legally obtaining a license to practice magic away from muggles."

Trudy thought that sounded hopeful. She had a license to drive. It thrilled her to think about continuing her studies in magic. Judge Yertle brought her out of her daydream with his next comment.

"We have discussed the matter of practicing magic without a license, let us change the subject to the more serious charge of exposing other muggles to magic. I hope you understand the full gravity of this offense and the seriousness for protecting the wizard world," the judge said.

"If muggles knew of the wizard world, they would demand magical solutions for everything. Think about muggle armies forcing wizards to use dark magic in order to win their wars," Judge Yama added.

"I was able to learn magic. What if we could erase terms like wizard or muggle by teaching magic to everyone the way we teach kids language or math? In poor countries where people depend on outside help for medicine, wouldn't it be better to teach them potions to facilitate their own medicines?"

"What you suggest is a good thing in an ideal world. We do not live in an ideal world. You are not the first to suggest such a thing, and you won't be the last. The truth is, Ms. Falstaff, the world is better off when there is a division between worlds," Judge Yertle said.

"But—"

"You are a woman of technology and science, aren't you, my dear?" the judge asked.

"Yes, your honor."

"If all muggles learned magic, what do you think would happen to science? Why reach for new boundaries and make new discoveries when magic makes life so much simpler? Have you considered that?"

"No, your honor," she said, and bowed her head.

"Let us move on to your performance demonstrating magic," Judge Yertle said.

Trudy raised her head and swallowed. The video was the final nail in her coffin. She didn't think the wizard world was tech savvy enough to know about her posted video, but they did. They obviously did thorough work on their muggle studies homework.

The bailiff brought in something that looked like a block of polished stone. He set it on the floor between Trudy and the bench of judges. He tapped the block with his wand and a projection presented her video in midair between the bench and where Trudy sat. Whether magic or technology, Trudy thought the projector was really cool and wished she could have one.

The projection displayed the video of her talking to the camera on her laptop. She presented her first lesson of being able to levitate a pencil and posted it on the internet.

"Explain this," the judge said.

Trudy had no explanation. She had demonstrated magic not for a few muggles to see, but posted it for a whole world of muggles to see.

"It was one video. Most people thought it had good special effects. Others thought the video was a hoax. That it was too good to be true."

"Not everyone thought it was a hoax or special effects, did they?"

"No, your honor. I was contacted by a dozen people who believed it and tracked me down to learn from what I learned. Over half of them gave up because they thought it was too much effort."

"And, all twelve had their minds wiped of any bit of magic they had learned," the judge added.

Not only that, Trudy also found out her video had been removed from the internet, which is an amazing feat for anyone, wizard or muggle.

"You have presented a good defense for yourself, Ms. Falstaff. You have given us a lot to think about and discuss. Give us a moment to deliberate, and we will deliver our verdict soon."

The moment the judges stepped down from the bench, Trudy pulled over the pad of paper and a pen and started writing words down the side of the page. Even though she was allowed pen and paper to take notes during the trial, the bailiff walked over to her table. He bent down to pick up the projector from the floor. As he stood up, he asked, "The trial is over, miss. What are you writing?"

"I'm making a grocery list. If the verdict comes back guilty, I'd like to get this down before my mind is wiped," she said, and smiled at the bailiff.

"I understand. I'm the same way with my missus. If it's not written down, I tend to forget without my mind being wiped," he said. "But, I'll still have to pass it by the judges, before you can keep it."

Trudy nodded. She bent over the pad and continued to write more words down the page.

The judges returned to the bench as Trudy wrote down the last two words—"scentd lye"—with the S in looking like it had fallen over in her haste. She set down her pen and handed the pad to the bailiff. The bailiff approached the bench and displayed the grocery list to the judges.

"This requires your approval," he said.

The judges glanced at the list and then to Trudy as if asking for more clarification.

"In case my mind is wiped and I forget what I need from the store," Trudy said.

Each of the judges looked over the list as it was passed around the bench.

"The court approves of your list," Judge Yertle said and handed the pad back to the bailiff who returned it to Trudy.

"Although, for a clever woman, I must say, your spelling is atrocious," added Judge Yrarbil.

Trudy shrugged and said, "What can I say? I'm a techie and depend heavily on spell checkers and the auto correct." She tore off the page with the list, folded it neatly, and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans.

"We are ready to deliver our verdict," Judge Yertle said. "As I said, you presented a good case. We agree that you have suggested some positive changes to improve our processes. However, the wizard world is not in a position to push these changes through quick enough for this trial. The evidence you presented gave us concern regarding the stability and security of the wizard world. If the information you have presented were to fall into the wrong hands, it could be catastrophic to our way of life. We therefore, find you guilty. Your mind will be wiped to purge knowledge of your magical abilities and discoveries. Your other memories will remain intact."

"Please don't take away the magical world from me," she begged. "Can't I get an appeal?"

They ignored her request and prepared themselves for the next trial.

The bailiff approached Trudy with his wand extended. "I mean you no ill-will, miss,"

"No, don't!"

"Obliviate," he said with sadness, but the words of the bailiff and her knowledge melted and evaporated away like ice on a hot sidewalk. The courtroom and the wizard world faded from her mind.

* * *

Trudy sat up on her sofa in her apartment when a loud crack startled her awake from a deep sleep. She didn't remember lying down to take a nap. Usually, when she took naps, she took them in her bed in the dark cave of her bedroom, not in the living room where light spilled in from all the windows. The times she did fall asleep on the sofa were usually late at night as she watched TV while wrapped up in her favorite blanket. There was no blanket and the TV was off.

Weird, she thought.

The more she tried to remember the events that led up to her taking a nap on her sofa, the more her brain seemed to reject the thought and tried to distract her with other thoughts.

She stood up and wobbled. It wasn't a hangover. It had been a while since she and her friends went out to a happy hour, and she rarely drank to excess to induce such a hangover. She drank socially, but preferred to limit her drinks so she could still think straight.

Just in case it was a hangover, she needed water. As she passed by the computer table, something nagged at her. She glanced at the table, shook her head, and proceeded to the kitchen. After she fixed herself a plastic cup of ice water, she took a couple of gulps, burped, and passed by the computer table again. As she passed, she had a nagging suspicion that something was missing, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. The monitor, keyboard, and mouse all checked out. The messy scribbles of notes and receipts should probably be cleaned up, but were fine. The tools, wires, and other electronic gizmos she tinkered with…Was she working on something in particular? No. Her brain told her it was all good, too.

Maybe a shower will clear my head, she thought.

She walked into her bedroom. Something was missing from her nightstand. Every night before going to bed, she read a book. It was habit. One she had for years. On the nights she didn't read, she had a tough time falling to sleep. It was part of her nighttime ritual, like brushing her teeth or washing her face. Yet, there was no book on her nightstand. She tried to remember what book she had been reading recently, but couldn't remember. The books she did remember reading were weeks or months ago. Maybe she was between books and hadn't settled on a new one.

She shrugged off the though and concentrated on taking a shower.

In the bathroom, she pulled off her shirt and dropped it to the floor. As she undid her jeans, she felt something poke her upper thigh from her pocket. She fumbled her hand into her pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Partially undressed, she unfolded the paper and glanced at a column of words on the page. She recognized the writing as her own, but couldn't remember writing it. Trudy wondered why she hand-wrote a grocery list on a piece of paper and not the app she normally used on her phone.

That's when she noticed several odd things about the items on the grocery list. Why did she spell milk with a Y? Further down, why did she write "aged cheddar" with the two Es and the D capitalized? And, since when did she eat aged cheddar, anyway? There was even an apostrophe where it didn't belong. Trudy realized this wasn't an ordinary grocery list. Something had happened and she left herself a note.

Trudy ran to her desk in the other room still shirtless and her jeans partially undone. The window beside her computer table overlooked the apartment parking lot. Normally, she was self conscious about how she dressed when she was in the living room and kitchen of her apartment, because anyone could see her. She didn't care how exposed she was. If something had happened to her, something important enough to leave herself a note, she didn't care what kind of peep show she offered the perverts in her complex.

Trudy grabbed a random piece of paper on her desk that didn't have as much other writing on it. She walked down the grocery list and noted every misspelled word, every out of place capital letter, and the random apostrophe. Some words had missing letters where there should have been double letters. Correcting her own list of grocery items, the message spelled out "Jim's gym Abe DeBefe".

"What the—?! What is that supposed to mean?" she asked out loud.

She knew the name "Jim's Gym". She drove by it hundreds of times to and from work. She always liked the name of the place because it sounded so corny. She recalled starting a membership to the gym, but only working out once or twice. Did Abe DeBefe work there? She couldn't remember. If he's the one who drugged her and stole her memories, he was going to pay severely. Something nagged at her that Abe wasn't a real person.

As Trudy stood up from the computer table, she spotted a couple of barely teenage boys on their bicycles staring at her partial nakedness through the window from the parking lot. She grabbed the cups of her exposed bra and gave each of her breasts a gentle squeeze. Then, she blew them a kiss and shot them the finger. As the boys' faces turned red and they fell to pieces with a thrilling new story to tell their friends, Trudy returned to the bathroom to get her shower.

* * *

Trudy stormed up to the gym. From her shower and during the drive to the gym, she boiled with anger at this mysterious Abe person, whoever he was. As she got out of her car and slammed the door, she realized she didn't really know what to say to Abe once she found him. She was just going off a name in a cryptic note from herself. Was Abe somehow involved with the mystery grocery list? Why wouldn't she give herself more details about Abe? If she did find Abe, what would she accuse him of doing? Stealing her memories? Who did she think Abe was? A man in black who could steal her memories? Something still told her that Abe DeBefe was an invented person. But, why would she invent this Abe person? And, if she invented a person, couldn't she think of a better name than Abe DeBefe?

"Hey, Trudy! I wondered when we'd see you again," said the well toned man at the front counter as she walked through the door.

"Is you're name Abe?" she asked.

"No, it's Mike," he said. As soon as he said it, she knew she knew his name.

"Does someone named Abe work here? Or, have a membership here?" she asked.

"Nope. If I'm not working the front desk, I'm making the rounds. I know most of the people by name who come through here, and I don't think I've ever met someone named Abe. I see you didn't bring your bag today. Are you working out? If you are, you might want to change into something more comfortable than jeans."

Trudy looked down at her clothes: jeans, a blouse, and flats. Not exactly proper workout attire.

"Maybe you left some spare workout clothes in your locker," Mike suggested.

Locker. That sounded familiar.

"Could you remind me my locker number?" Trudy asked.

Mike shook his head and chuckled, "Sure thing. Just a sec."

He looked up her name in the system. Within seconds, he told her, "Number thirty five in the women's locker room."

That sounded familiar, too. Her memory was still fuzzy about the locker. She couldn't remember the combination, but maybe she knew it through muscle memory. Weren't all the numbers in the twenties? Or, was that the combination she had years ago in high school?

Trudy thanked Mike and headed for the locker room. She found locker number thirty five most of the way down the first top row of lockers as she entered. In her own handwriting, right next to the locker number, she found "=sigma Abe" written in Sharpie marker. Then, it clicked. Abe wasn't a person. It was a hexadecimal number. But, not a normal hexadecimal number. The "=sigma" told her it was a sum of the individual digits of "Abe": 10, 11, and 14. Adding those numbers together equaled thirty five. Applying the same reasoning to "DeBefe", she broke the word up into three pairs and found the sum of each pair: 27, 25, and 29. The combination to the lock.

Trudy's heart raced. She didn't know why she sent herself on this mysterious quest, but knew that she was about to find out. As she twisted the padlock to the last number, and gave it a tug, the lock popped open. Her hands shook so much with nervous excitement, she could barely remove the padlock and open the locker door.

Inside was box about the size of a box of PopTarts. It was gift wrapped with the comics section of a newspaper. One of her hot pink Post-It notes she kept by her phone at the apartment was stuck to the top of the wrapped box. In her own writing, she instructed herself, "Do not open until you are home."

She closed and locked up the locker, cradled the small box under one arm, and sped to the exit. She called, "Bye, Mike!" as she whooshed past the counter and out the front door.

The drive home was the longest drive she ever had. It was only a few miles away from her apartment, but it felt like hours. At each stop light, she itched to open the box and see what was inside. But, her instructions had got her this far. She decided to obey her own words. The lights seemed to take all day to change back to green.

What did she leave herself? She knew it must have been very important to leave herself such cryptic clues. Especially if she hid it in a locker at a gym she rarely visited. Yet, what could be so dangerous or secretive that someone had erased all memories of it from her mind? And, who had the power or technology to do such a thing?

"Come on, stupid light! Change green already!" she yelled.

After two more annoyingly stubborn red lights, a couple who took forever to cross the driveway entrance to the apartment complex, and the world's slowest security gate rattling open, Trudy finally made it back to her apartment. She shut and locked the door. Just to keep prying eyes, including from two horny boys on their bikes, from spying on the contents of her mystery gift to herself, Trudy closed the blinds for all the windows in her apartment. She kept a firm hold on the mystery box the whole time.

Once alone, she sat down on the sofa and tore open the paper surrounding the box. The container was a PopTart box, but there was not a single pastry inside. Instead, there was more newspaper padding a small electronic device she did not recognize and a thumb drive which she did recognize as one of her own.

Trudy grabbed her laptop and plugged in the thumb drive. The drive contained several files. She couldn't wait to see what was in each file, but opened the one at the top of the list which was labeled, "_READ_ME_FIRST_.txt".

The contents of the file said:

"Hey there.

If you are reading this message, I'm sure you've figured out this is from yourself. I'm also sure you have probably forgotten several things and have a lot of question, including when you wrote this message and put together the contents of the box. Don't worry. We're clever enough to restore those memories, just be patient and keep following your own instructions, no matter how crazy they might sound.

In case you didn't follow your own directions and tried opening any of the other files first, you will see that the other files on this drive are all encrypted. Hopefully, you kept the grocery list that started you on your journey. The password to these files is the first letter of each item on the list.

If you are reading this, then it means someone had a reason for you not knowing about the contents of these files and removed that knowledge from your mind. Don't panic. I put together this thumb drive as a precaution for just such an event. At the time of me writing this, I am about to post video (also enclosed on this drive). I'm hesitant about sharing what I have discovered with other people. If you are reading this, then my instinct was correct. I do not feel hesitant to share the contents of this drive with myself, because I know it will give you a whole new perspective of the world.

What you are about to learn, please approach with an open mind, use it wisely, and figure out a way to use the contents properly, so that the next time, you won't forget. Trust yourself. It is all wonderful.

In a way, I am envious that you have a chance to discover it all over again with a fresh mind.

Love,  
Yourself"


End file.
